We love our scissors.
We need them, we are nothing without them, We keep them in a special place-not a heart but a leather pouch. It protects them. We are monogamous and selfish with them. We do not share them. EVER.
We also dare not use others scissors. It would feel wrong. Uncomfortable and awkward. When we cradle them in our hands they are held like a lover . Deliberately and intentionally we handle them. Carefully and lovingly, they are our partner.
We need them more than they need us. Inanimate objects that merely extend our humanity. A metal conductor for our vision- the tool that transfers the information to the medium. When we hold a virgin pair in front of us we are in awe of them. It electrifies us.
We cannot quit staring at their beauty. Their curves and parts. We then begin the honeymoon …
We cannot keep our hands off of them. We must learn every curve, every nuance. With cautious trepidation we reminisce about the previous pair. We have a lot of history together. The things that you have shared, the good and the bad. They have seen you at your worst and they have seen you at your best. It is a bitter sweet goodbye. They are not so easy to discard. What if? We need to practice regular maintenance on them. We hate to see them fall or used improperly.
We keep them properly oiled lest we cause them harm. We love them. We buy many and use few. We have our favorites we use over and over and some we only use once. The scissors we all hunger to use are expensive, sexy and perfectly proportioned for their intended use.
The fit has to be perfect. Tis like a lover..